An Ode to My Tank

One of the things about living on the side of a mountain is the fact that our "driveway" is twenty-some kilometers of forest service roads. Otherwise known as backroads or... trails, even. Now, most of our road is fairly well maintained, but this year weather conditions have perfected the glossywindinglugetrack that we drive far too often. I drove it today, in fact, and we can add "winter driving" to my list of "I can do that", under the classification of "Unsatisfactory".

Cooking for hoards of hungry helpers means stocking up with serious supplies. Our nearest grocery superstore is 1.5 hours away, so we order large-quantity groceries from a company called Sysco. My good pal, the Sysco Guy, gives us a call on his cell (not while he's driving! that's illegal now!) and I caroom down the driveway to meet him on the highway and receive my shipment. Normally, that's how it goes down.

But there's this one corner, just a lovely curvy corner of ice with deeeeeeep steeeep ditches. And those ditches just looked so appealing to my Suburban today that she dove right in, even though I read her thoughts and let out a gut-wrenching "NNNNOOOOOO!!!!". We had left a little early, so the kids and I proceeded to break piles of pine boughs and shove them under the tires, but we only succeeded in carving a series of tunnels through the knee-deep snow. I abandoned my inadequate shoes and pulled on Hubby's big rubber boots, and with a dollar-store army knife worked at whittling off a fallen tree that was threatening to crease a huge dent in the newly-repaired side panels of the truck. The kids hauled more branches and I just kept praying...

Apparently God had other plans for us today, because on our final escape attempt there was a sudden stop accompanied by a resounding "clunk" and I knew we were going no farther. Somewhere in that morass of branches, spun-up gravel and ice crystals there was a rock, and it had decided to hold fast to the tender underbelly of our beloved 'Burban. We locked up and decided to take the Heel Toe Express back up to camp.

Well, the story doesn't have a sad ending - not far along we flagged down my new best friend The Granite Guy, who'd been at camp measuring for our new countertops. He drove us back home and I braced myself for a good ribbing. Our brandnewshiny tractor pulled the 'Burban out with ease. The little grocery/convenience store/gas station in our community accepted delivery of my Sysco order, and the Sysco Guy is reported to have said "When she called and said she was in the ditch, my first thought was: thank goodness she drives a tank!"

This is only the second time in four years that my 'Burban has turned on me and left me looking foolish off the side of our road; not bad really, considering how many trips down that road we make. And she still cradled that big food order all the way home, not even breaking an egg. What can I say? I love my truck.